


Overtime

by epeolatry



Series: Halcyon Days [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Coming In Pants, Fight Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Overworking, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/pseuds/epeolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel is so sick of Feuilly working overtime every night</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overtime

It was 8pm on a Tuesday night. Bahorel had eaten two protein bars and left four voicemails on Feuilly's phone but the little shit wasn't picking up. Unfortunately for him, Bahorel knew that Feuilly worked in the same publishing house as Marius did on Tuesdays, taking inventories rather than translating.

 

Bahorel let Feuilly's phone ring out one more time before bellowing into the answering machine, "You'd better get your skinny arse ready to go, because by the time you get this message I will be kicking down the goddamn door of your office and bringing you home, you ergomaniac freak! Fuck. You're worse than Enjolras you know? Motherfucker. I hate you. See you soon."

 

By the time Bahorel got off the bus outside the office block it was almost nine and he was starving. His bad mood wasn't ameliorated by the absence of Feuilly waiting for him on the curb outside.

 

"Workaholic dickface," he muttered darkly before striding up to the doors, shoving past the dozing night watchman and damn near breaking the lift button by jabbing too hard at number four. He stalked out of the lift at the appropriate level, glanced automatically into the empty room where Marius was usually hunched over a sheaf of papers, and barreled down to the last door on the left.

 

It was a mark of how tired Feuilly must have been that he jumped as Bahorel slammed the door open; usually nothing shook Feuilly. A nuclear bomb could go off down the street and he would shrug it off. But when he looked up at Bahorel, haggard and tired eyed, there was a glimmer of both surprise and guilt in his expression.

 

"Bahorel, what- "

 

"I haven't had dinner yet, you selfish prick!"

 

Feuilly frowned disconcertedly, “What, so you expect me to- ”

 

“No you dick, I fucking _made_ dinner, but I haven’t eaten it yet because _you_ were supposed to be home on time tonight!”

 

"Why didn’t you just- "

 

"You have ten seconds to grab your shit and get the fuck, otherwise I swear I will knock you out and lay you across this desk naked for your boss to find in the morning. Got it?"

 

Feuilly's expression hardened, "This is my _job_. I can't just up and leave whenever I like."

 

"Well newsflash buddy, I'm a law student - a lapsed one, I'll grant you - but I know a little something about worker's rights. And this ain't right. It is literally not legal for you to work all these hours and not get paid proper overtime."

 

Feuilly sighed tiredly and bent his head back over the books he was inventorying, too exhausted to argue with Bahorel.

 

"Don't you fucking do that! You always do that!" Bahorel snarled and he lunged over the desk to grab Feuilly by his shirt collar and drag him to his feet.

 

"Fuck you!" Feuilly shouted, suddenly animated by the whiff of a fight. He shoved hard at Bahorel, and when that proved ineffective he punched a bony fist into the other man's solar plexus, feeling the whoosh of air that escaped Bahorel ruffle his hair. He glared down at his winded, doubled over friend and turned back to his desk.

 

Bahorel gasped and clawed at nothing but his facial expression spelled danger, and he didn't even bother straightening up before crashing into Feuilly from behind in a rugby tackle that sent them both sprawling over the desk, Feuilly trapped between the wood and Bahorel's weight atop him.

 

"Get off me," he growled.

 

"No," Bahorel wheezed back.

 

"Get off me!" Feuilly demanded again, squirming and bucking his hips in an attempt to dislodge Bahorel and- oh.

 

_Oh_.

 

Feuilly had always had a sneaking suspicion that somehow Bahorel's body confused aphrodisiac with adrenaline; whenever he fought he got horny, and it wasn't just with Feuilly either. Fighting in general, whether it was sparring in the gym with Grantaire, messing about at the flat with Feuilly, or getting chucked out of a bar Bahorel was always horny once his fists were bruised and his nose was bloody.

 

Bahorel's own hips shifted, grinding down against Feuilly's arse, and it took the redhead all of two seconds to decide that he'd rather a quick fuck and then be taken home to a nice hot meal than keep fighting for his right to work obscene amounts of overtime for less than minimum wage. Feuilly pressed his arse up into Bahorel and felt his hardness through both their jeans as Bahorel let out a quiet moan. Bahorel's breath was hot on Feuilly's neck and he twisted around to mouth at the larger man's throat, making Bahorel moan again, more loudly.

 

"You ginger fuck," Bahorel growled, but the heat in the words was different to before.

 

Feuilly grinned and sank his teeth into the flesh he had been kissing. He was rewarded by Bahorel reaching around to undo his belt then gracelessly yanking his trousers down to grab at his cock and start pumping him.

 

"Fuck," hissed Feuilly at the sudden, hot friction, "Fucking hell, slow down!"

 

"Nuh uh," breathed Bahorel into his ear, "You're gonna come for me all over these fucking books, then I'm gonna carry you onto the bus and take you home for round two."

 

"No, don't," Feuilly protested weakly, but they both knew he didn't mean it. He whined as Bahorel jacked him off harder, the short strokes edged with pain but no less pleasurable for all that. Feuilly began to writhe, bucking his hips back into Bahorel until the larger man couldn't help but rut against him, both of them moaning loudly. Bahorel's thrusts against Feuilly became more erratic and suddenly he shuddered, groaning dully but continuing to stroke Feuilly. Feuilly came a moment later, keening as he spilt then collapsed forward on the desk, exhausted.

 

After a moment of recovery, Bahorel eased his weight off Feuilly, who remained where he was, splayed out over the desk with his trousers around his ankles.

 

"You just came on that inventory list," pointed out Bahorel, gesturing to the smudged document sticking out from under Feuilly's stomach. The redhead levered himself up gingerly, leaning on the desk and glaring at Bahorel as he pulled up his trousers.

 

"At least I didn't shoot in my pants like a fucking twelve year old."

 

Bahorel laughed evilly, "You're lucky I've got the refractory time of a twelve year old. Ten quid says I've got you on your back in half an hour, begging for more."

 

Feuilly rolled his eyes tiredly, "Just help me clean up this mess."


End file.
